Forever In Debt
by chase3136
Summary: A figure twitched with awareness of the approaching footsteps, stiffening at the scuffing of anxious shifting from the surrounding cells and tilted his weary head towards the gentle thuds. "Id run if I were you mate" he croaked, shocking the pulsing beat to a hasty halt and he spoke into the dead silence that followed, "There are nasty beasties in here that would love a lil snack"


**_If you actually like Angel/Angelus/Liam THIS IS NOT THE FIC FOR YOU!_  
**

Created: 21/12/2009

**One Shot**: Dark(ish)fic; Alternate Universe (AU); Horror; Suspense; **COMPLETE!**

**WARNING!** Rated R: mention of Multiple Character deaths! **A****ngst**, violence and some nudity.

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**Forever in Debt**

In the dead stillness of the infinite dark rests hollow creatures, far from death and even further from living, barricaded from the remaining decays of this fallen world since the long lost battle. The black and lonely shape of a tall misshapen building collides with the blood red horizon; shadows sweep the grounds and submerge the crumbling walls, dancing like wildfire that once blazed with life until the perpetual cover of night blanketed the planet, and light itself simmered into ashes. Echoed whispers leap through the prohibited passages, beckoning the weak to come hither, towards evils insatiable clutches, to devour them in one harsh gulp and plunge them into more and more obscurity.

The scratching of nails on waning grey bricks, the whimpers of pain from blood shed and ceaseless agony, the cries of madness that shriek that the end is nigh, the end that will never surpass.

But than something unfamiliar, the dry thud of footsteps hung over the dead and dying like a dead man's noose, piecing the sensitive hearing of the caged beasts, silence fell sudden and the rhythmic pulsing of shoe soles filled its cavernous hole. Every thud of that agonisingly steady beat fed the starving silence, waiting and watching the emptiness.

In the dim a silhouette loomed out of the shadows and stalked passed the creaking bars of the incarcerated monsters. A crouching, lean figure twitched with awareness of the approaching footsteps, stiffening at the scuffing of anxious shifting from the surrounding cells and the demon tilted his weary head towards the gentle thuds.

"I'd run if I were you, mate," his hoarse voice croaked shocking the pulsing beat to an hasty halt and he spoke into the dead silence that followed, that always followed. "There are nasty beasties in here that would love a li'l snack."

The soft pounding resided and quickened in pace finally skidding to a standstill at the source of the bodiless voice.

The crouching demon too exhausted to look up, stared straight, his unfocused intent unchanging from the offending cell wall, listening absorbedly to the rapid heartbeat of the outsider who lingered near the cursed aluminium fortification, which kept him contained.

A warm American accent floated to his keen ears, "Hi yaw buddy, long time no see."

Shaken by the familiarity of that voice, he lost sight of his permanent fixation as he snapped his concentration to the irritating man just clear of his grasp. Arctic blue eyes narrowed and dimmed with fury at the sight of the diminutive, musky smelling brunet who hesitated and stuttered as he stumbled backwards when the incisive gaze of the extraordinary demon struck him.

"Whoa now, buddy," he held his hands up to illustrate his defeat while still cautiously backing away, the rage-energised demon predatorily glided to his bear feet to pursue his prey towards the restraining obstruction, "Its not me you're angry with remember? …don't shoot the messenger!" the demon heard the desperation in his habitually, tediously cheery voice, but the demon was no longer under control.

"Oh, I'm not going to _shoot _you Whistler…" his mockery dripped with malice, "but I am going to _bloody _KILL YA!" the demon launched itself at the unrelenting bars, swiping at the lesser demon jumping further back in alarm.

Whistler's raucous yelp motivated the edgy, horrifying creatures in the adjacent cells and they roared their frustration, he erratically shuffled from left to right as the deafening screams swamped the entire building, once comforting himself enough to believe that none and nothing had the enthusiasm to make a real attempt on his life his coffee-brown eyes interlocked with the blistering amber of the vampire that still rattled the maddening metal.

Taking a deep breath, Whistler tried again, "Spike please…" he begged. "Please Spike, I had no choice you have to believe me, I never wanted this."

The demon, Spike snarled though his vampire visage shifted into his human mask.

"I knew we couldn't trust you!" and like the most poisonous of venoms, his words slowly and agonizingly slithered deep within Whistler's quaking body.

**—(•·÷[ SPIKE ]÷·•)—**

Fighting the loosing battle to stay in control of his blood-withdrawal demon, Spike shoved himself away from the bars of his cell and twisted his unclothed back towards Whistler trying frantically to centre on his empty cube-like cell, raking his coarse hands through his tangled hair.

Whistler took the instant of internal struggle to truly look at his old friend even despite the fact that the progressing riot howled all around him without any charade of ever subsiding. Taking in the vampire before him, he realised with a devastating wrench of remorse that Spike's skin was paler then he had ever seen probable even for a vampire, his hair had lengthened to his shoulders, thick, grease slick, black tresses with dirty platinum blonde tips and he no longer possessed that self-assured, arrogance about him now that his shoulders slumped in defeat and deference, his once sculptured body was now wilted and frail, he appeared too thin for his strong frame in the scanty piece of filthy leather tat that clung to his hips scarcely concealing his notable size.

Trying not to let his heart wane under the weight of merciless emotion he was not supposed to be capable of experiencing and yet he could not ignore that he was feeling, Whistler tried to contemplate the circumstances as they were; he was putting himself in immense danger just being within these walls and he had better maintain his common sense if he was going to make it back out again.

Feeling his wrath crumble like everything he had ever known, Spike face Whistler and bestowed on him a grief-stricken glare that spoke of deep anguish. Even through all the pain of imprisonment, Spike was still passionate, intolerable ad stubborn but that look revealed intensity in him that had never been exposed before; absolute desperation, and it terrified Whistler more than anything that crawled amid these lurid walls.

"Help me…" Whistler shook his head, blinking rapidly. That voice, it was so quiet, too apprehensive, it can no have come from him, not the tough, rebellious, _evil_ Spike!

"Please… help me."

Shaking his head violently and snapping himself free from his denial, he tentatively walked up to the cell. Spike made no move towards him, encouraging him further.

Whistler whispered what he hoped was a reassuring reply; "Why else would I be here buddy?"

Calling forth the Powers That Be, Whistler chanted in Latin under his breath, his concentration centred on the aluminium bars that trapped his friend.

"Per Vox Ut Exsisto, patefacio is ianua…"

Spike watched with bated breath not knowing whether this was really happening or whether it was just another hallucination, a figment of his imagination toying with his mind and emotions. A faint pallid light illuminated the dense dark, broadening the sinister shadows until they loomed over them, the light glazed along the brim of the cursed aluminium, smoking and sparking as a slight fizz sipped at the air, that's when an impulsive unnerving hush came over the rampaging beasts.

Too lost in the wonder of the phenomenon taking place before them, neither Whistler nor Spike noticed the creeping quiet of the curious creatures. With a reverberating clash the metal crashed to the concrete ground, as soon as the light simmered and faded back into the gloom Spike leapt free from his prison and at Whistler…

**—(•·÷[ WHISTLER ]÷·•)—**

Whistler had not seen him attack until it was too late, before he had time to protest he was enveloped in Spike's euphoric embrace, with him effortlessly swept off his feet and dancing with him held gratefully close in firm clasp. He might not have his physique anymore nevertheless he was still incredibly strong, Whistler realised appreciatively even as Spike continued to squeeze him light heartedly. But than an icy chill ran all the way through Whistler as his senses scoped the building and his hairs prickled the back of his neck.

Not good.

**—(•·÷[ SPIKE ]÷·•)—**

Spike felt Whistler become rigid in his arms and stopped mid-prance of his celebration to set him back on his trembling feet, he looked at him uncertainly.

"What's the -" Whistler raised his hands hysterically and waved them through the air. Spike frowned at his ridiculous actions until his blue eyes widened as the silence pressed against his demonic hearing.

Oh bloody hell.

Confused and panic stabbed at the two men, both frozen, too petrified to disturb the throbbing silence, too unwilling to risk ending their journey here. Spike looked to Whistler for directions as the silence seemed to shift and push harder against them, as if denying them any escape.

Whistler tentatively mouthed that they must travel to the lower levels until they reach the dungeons, not loving the idea but knowing he still had a job to do. Spike grimaced in mistrust of the plan as apprehension chilled his body however he resentfully began to move stealthily past Whistler and along the narrow passages.

Spike's bare feet glided soundlessly across the rough concrete floor, behind his a subtle but audible thudding followed his footsteps and he winced as it collided with the lengthening silence. Creeping quickly past the cages that surrounded the walls, amber eyes flit across every cell detecting possible threats in every direction. Whistler tiptoed cautiously trying to block out the foreboding atmosphere that infested this whole place by keeping his eyes ahead, reminding him of his purpose.

Spike's amber eyes suddenly locked with the deepest of black belonging to a shrivelled demon slumped miserably up against the bars of its cage, pausing at the pathetic sight he felt his cold un-beating heart constrict as Whistle collided lightly with him. Spike gave him a withering look and then Whistler followed his intrigued line of sight. He saw the mangled shell of the demon and shot Spike a glare of warning, which did not please him.

"She's going to die in this hell-hole!" Spike hissed, his anger conveniently making him forget that they were being hunted.

Whistler looked offended.

"Shush! I came here for you! You can't go releasing demons all over the place!" his urgent whisper wavered down the passage, a scuffing of raw flesh against the brittle ground brought both their attention to the female demon and caught her watching them carefully.

The determined spark that flared in her black eyes captured Spike. Heart-rending memories of strong females falling swarmed his mind and he knew that he was not too late this time, she was not lost yet.

Turning to face Whistler with a growl, Spike seized hold of his oversized t-shirt collar and yanked him upwards so that his feet dangled pointlessly off the ground.

"Say the bloody magic words, mate, I'm not leaving without her," he snarled. His voice boomed within the cramped passage, he did not bother to keep his voice down.

He knew all too well that they were being watched, tracked; hunted, it knew did not matter how quiet they strived to be, they would still be heard.

Slowly he regained his long forgotten reckless courage and his arrogant swagger whilst Whistler rushed to unleash the demoness and felt more at ease within him-self then he had in too long. It was hard to determine what demon she had been, Spike considered with concern, she appeared to be human but the dirt and dust that cloaked her skin made it impossible to confirm what she truly was, although he could not detect a heartbeat at all. Whatever she might be Spike did not care, he just could not bear leaving such a strong spirit to waste away into nothing like his so nearly had, and like so many he would never be able to forget.

The instant the bars of the cage came crashing down, the demoness stumbled eagerly to her long quivering limbs only to fall forwards in her haste into Spike's steady arms, swiftly he swung her legs up to hold her nude body soothingly to his hard chest. With Spike too preoccupied with comforting the new addition to their little getaway operation, Whistler was the first to hear it; it was subtle as first like the pitter-patter of rain on the cold glass of an open window but unlike the slashing of rain the sound steadily grew closer like the rising of the tide, and increasingly louder like a roar of thunder, to Whistler the reason for the unnerving silence of the relentless demons was suddenly very much apparent.

Spike flinched at the petrifying clatter as soon as he recognised it as the one noise he had pleaded to never make itself known to him again, and he knew at that instant; that was the time to panic… and to run.

**—(•·÷[ SPIKE ]÷·•)—**

Whistler was the first to sprint into the spiralling grey-stone staircase with Spike launching after him with the nameless demoness pulled protectively in a tight embrace even as thousands of cascading claws rumbled down, down through each slopping chamber gushing further and further deeper towards the darkest depths of the building; the dungeons.

The speedy thudding of Whistler's heavy footsteps pounded rhythmically with the wild beat of his heart, blood rushed to his head and his ears buzzed, the only other sound he heard was his own rasping breaths echoing harshly off the dead walls, that and their vastly descending doom.

Spike raced the extent of the never ending staircase understanding plainly that he was in reality retreating towards the very edge of hell.

The demoness had remained frozen in his arms since that toe curling, hair rising, stomach churning sound had reached her perceptive hearing, she dare not move an inch for surely that sound could only mean one thing; the end is genuinely nigh… finally.

**—(•·÷[ SPIKE ]÷·•)—**

Whistler's boot soles hit the bottom step at the same time as he was completely swallowed by the intensifying dark. The silence was instantaneously pieced by an inferno of screeching emanating from each of the tough cells hidden within the black vial of icy death, maniacal chains rattled and raucous bellows that swore to carnage shook the underground; it would seem the more perilous the beast the less concern for the call of death that was showing excitedly in their direction.

Whistler's pace did not falter as he ran along the aisle between the treacherous bars that kept him just beyond deaths grasp, not even to allow his eyes time to adjust to the overwhelming darkness, but instead placed his whole reliance onto the Power That Be to guide him, to seek a long lost soul.

Spike followed quickly at his heels using his demonic sight to light his path through the clouding shadows, seeing Whistler come to an immediate halt outside another cell, he impatiently peered inside.

Spike's amber eyes looked into the dark brown of a familiar face, a demons face. The eyes that held his gaze were fierce as he stalked stealthily towards the edge of his confining cell; Spike almost dropped the demoness still clutched in his arms when the presence of such a memory hit him at full speed. Squinting at the cold, wicked face of a man ho had once radiated a forbidden love; Spike knew with startling clarity that the kind-faced man was lost to the demon along with _both_ of their souls.

The distant echo of Whistler mumbling in Latin snapped Spike out of his trance like a bucket of cold water thrown over his head, and he crashed back to earth.

"NO!" he yelled, making the demoness flinch but Spike only gripped her closer. The Latin ceased and Whistler turned to him looking slightly sheepish. "You can't be bloody serious!" Spike's voice could he heard over all of the chaos.

Whistler felt his panic intensify with one glance at the outraged glare that Spike was burning into him with his blazing amber eyes through the dark, now that his eyes had adjusted.

"There's no time for this! He comes; no arguments. We have to get out of here, NOW!" his voice was urgent but Spike just would not have it.

""No _bloody_ way! He has no soul, Whistler!"

"You don't either!"

Spike took a step back, shaking his head frantically; he was so overcome by rage.

"I don't bloody need one, you wanker; I have a sodding heart!" a low drooling laugh drowned out their surroundings, both men looked inside the shadowed cell to see the offending demon eyeing them with twisted amusement. Spike tried to keep his mounting fear from reaching his expression, for now not only did they have death on their heels, but staring them in the face as well. He raised his chin defiantly in pseudo-indifference when the soulless memory spoke.

"Come now, Spike," the strong Ireland accent sent shivers down his spine. "Ye don' 'ave t' fear me."

**—(•·÷[ WHISTLER ]÷·•)—**

Whistler unsuccessfully tried to ignore every molecule in his trembling body that was screaming at him to, _'retreat! Run! Just take what you have and leave now!'_ when he caught sight of the man in that cage, but going against every instinct he had, he began to chant once more.

Spike did not respond to the superior demon's remark or to the way he reached through the bars to leer at the demoness, or even the terrified jerking of the demon in his arms as one of his dirty claws snatched at her raw skin. None of that was enough to put him in motion.

As her disgusted shriek filled his buzzing ears, reality swept back at him. He jumped back, bringing the demoness out of his eager reach.

"You sicken me!" Spike snarled indignantly.

"Ha, ha, ha!" he laughed outright, "and ye _amuse_ me," he drawled while Whistler struggled with his ritual, straining to hurry while the restricting metal continued to relent. "Look at ya, boy," he waved one of his grubby hands up and down in front of Spike, grimacing, "ya never change, ye were always _weak_."

A dim light shimmered into life trailing sluggishly along the entrance, sizzling with the effort as the metal held strong.

Spike's eyes narrowed into slits, the glowing pools of liquid gold looking through a haze of red, watching the monster before him.

"What the _bloody hell_ is _that_ s'posed to mean, Angelus?"

Angelus leered down at the demoness as he drooled.

"Even without a soul ye always were a disappointment to me," his words hung in the terror thick air lingering long enough to make Spike feel suffocated by his sire's words.

Finally the stubborn metal fell with an almighty clang in the hollow darkness, echoing through the cramped dungeon, the stealthy pounding to suffering was like daggers piecing through their skulls, so close now that every muscle shook with the tension, and the restraint of remaining motionless when eternal darkness was racing towards them.

Angelus emerged from his prison the instant that he was free, with vampire speed; he fled into the flickering shadows in his game face. Whistler hesitated to rush after him only a second before following Spike's lead, who was quick on Angelus' tail, unwilling to lose sight of another threat to them.

They sped as quickly and as far as they could away from the stone staircase, where the rumble of many legged beasts descended, the way they had come. Angelus never looked back and seemed suspiciously to Spike like he knew where he was heading. Spike watched with pure hatred searing from his heart, the one reason for all of his past misery was racing ahead of him in clear striking distance. One lunge and he would have him by the throat, then he could break his neck with ease; it would be so simple to just drop the nameless demoness and leave Whistler to worry about their hunters while he take care of some unfinished business; and yet he controlled himself, but just barely.

Whistler struggled to keep pace with the two master vampires, their saviour seemed to have been forgotten as the cold breath of death washed over the back of their necks, this was it; whatever it was, it was here.

It took all of his strength to stop, tearing his gaze away from Angelus' retreating form, Spike swung around and grabbed Whistler by the collar of his jumper, shoving his back up against the jagged stone of the dungeon wall, his rough fingers chilled Whistler's skin when Spike heavily covered his mouth with his free hand, smothering Whistler's yelp of surprise.

Whistler's lungs burned, only now that he was trapped between cold stone and the icy presents of a demon could he feel the throbbing of every muscle in his body. The pitter-patter of their hunters had surfaced its claws trek echoing as the ground beneath them trembled.

The riot in the dungeon has silenced when a gurgling squeal from deep within the unseen black pieced the still air. Spike snatched back his hand abruptly to restrain the franticly wriggling demoness in his arms, she was frightened and she was desperate. She kicked out silently while bloodied tears burned her dark eyes, when Spike still held strong she became reckless; she pieced his sunken skin with her talon-like-claws insinuating a soft grunt of pain. Spike let her legs go; her feet slapped on the icy that was the stone dungeon floor but held on tight to her wrists even as her struggles became erratic. Her head whipped hysterically, her slick long and tangled raven hair flailed around wildly and her breathing was harsh in the dead silence.

Whistler watched with baited breath while Spike urged the psychotic demoness to look at him but she continued to refuse any attempt of being restrained, he watched in horror as eventually Spike's grip slackened to a snatch at her quivering body but she squirmed out of reach from his urgent embrace with a squeak of relieve, she stumbled out into the deathly silence before Spike could stop her and into the open area of the dungeon, scurrying towards the shadows into which Angelus had disappeared.

Whistler clung to Spike's bicep with desperate fright that he may leave him to rescue the fugitive demoness. For a mind-numbing second his fear seemed to be all too real as Spike pulled against his one confinement, but then a shuddering breath of ice caressed their swollen flesh and they both froze. Spike's unwavering gaze followed the deranged demoness' slumped figure galloping wistfully deeper into the never ending darkness. He had never had the chance to get to know her, she was just a stranger to him and yet, his un-beating heart felt yet another gut churning tear as he listened anxiously to the vicious slap of her tender feet against the stone floor; he could not save her.

**—(•·÷[ SPIKE ]÷·•)—**

He knew there was nothing he could have done; nevertheless there was nothing that could have prepared him, not in all his three hundred years of being a vampire, not through all the deaths he had witnessed and could never have stopped could he have been prepared to witness the creeping shadow, from which they had fled, sweep past where Whistler and he both were hidden. He felt the sting of evil in its purest form graze up against his demon and felt it recoil inside of him, he heard the tell-tale slash of claws gouge the stone floor at the same moment he sensed it quake beneath his feet, but the one sight that could break even the most strongest, stubborn and heartfelt being that could ever have been created, was what Spike saw; as if in slow motion, the purest evil rose up from the ignorance that darkness granted whilst extending its many bloodthirsty jaws towards he rapidly tiring demoness just as she realised her mistake and turned to look into the gleaming eyes of her one freedom.

Spike's vision burns with pitiful tears although he did not flinch away from the demoness' black eyes, glistening with life until they blink out of existence and only empty black orbs are swallowed, the freedom of eternal night inside the creature's belly.

Petrified, he stayed exactly where he was, unaware of anything other then a familiar pain that drained all hope out of his heart, he neither helped nor resisted the insistent grasp from something, someone, somewhere yanking his lifeless body away from wherever he could last remember being, he was not sure where he was being taken, not caring why, he just followed aimlessly, his legs moving on auto, like a sleepwalker, he had no idea what he was doing. Spike half-ran with Whistler clinging to his side half-dragging him along. He could hear something distant; murmured whimpers, sounds that were high and harsh reminiscent of screams, but nothing penetrated his thoughts, nothing quite made sense.

Blindly his sulky, baby blue eyes observed sporadic images of blocking stone walls and long twisting passages, the stone steps made it hard to move forward even though he barely noticed the agonising ache in his muscles that was somewhere, everywhere; everything was just a never ending blur of nothing to him.

Fresh air was the first thing that flooded through the haze when the walls had ended and had fallen backwards, further behind him with every unceasing thunder of multiple feel on gravelly ground. It was still night. There was still only emptiness.

Then a silhouette could be seen coming nearer as he drew closer. A sense of danger and familiarity overwhelmed him. There were murmurs again but louder this time, closer, a soft growl makes the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand up; he is not listening, he does not want to know, he does not care; silence.

All of a sudden a blinding green light vanquished the dark, it does not burn, and the warm embrace of hope enveloped him. He welcomes the feeling of peace in the same way as he slips from hell into unconsciousness.

**...?...**

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******This will NOT be continued!**

**Authors Notes:** basically this is me b*****tching about "Angel" and making a point. The bottom-line to this story is that Angel was brought back from Hell by the First Evil. However, since he ran off to LA and didn't stick around for the big showdown with the First, this little titbit was left unresolved. And then, the last scene of the series "Angel" showed the world going to sh*****t and Angel being the cause, for _no reason other than to make himself feel better!  
_

**This is UN-Beta-ed. It's up to you what happens next. I wrote this while in a bad mood. _That might have come across._ This was my outlet and I'm actually pleased with what I came up with. When hating life in general I chose to write about an apocalypse.**

**To each their own.**

**If you are outraged about my opinion of _"Angel" _I _told _you this wasn't the fic for you...**

**_KnifeEdge QUOTES from her LiveJournal_**

**_(because she can tell it MUCH better than I can)..._**

**_...Because Angel is played up as the romantic hero, because he gets the theme music, and the special spot in the credits, we're manipulated just like Buffy into trusting and loving him, which ultimately makes his betrayal as heartrending for those who fell for his schtick as it is for Our Hero. I can't help but see their relationship as a huge imbalance, as a very orchestrated attempt on the character's part. Do I think Angel loved her? Yes, I do. In the same way I think that Humbert loved Lolita_**_ (from the Novel "Lolita")_**_-not__ in a healthy way, for her (and yes, I'm aware that Spike's relationship with Buffy wasn't always healthy, but what it WAS, always, was a relationship between equals)._**

**_... the thing I love about Spike, in any incarnation, is that he's so capable of change. He's a creature that makes his own rules, his own decisions. He's not ruled by his demon, but by his heart._**

**And in the end, soulled or unsouled... what was the difference? Unlike Angel, Spike was still Spike. He was always Spike. The soul just made him hate himself. He loved Buffy before it, and after it. And Buffy... had she not been so wrapped up in her own issues, may have come to appreciate that, or at least understand it.**

**_I love Spike exactly as he is, soul or no soul. Did he do horrible things? yes. But so do all of the souled characters on the show, too. Buffy and Willow and Giles and Xander... not one of them is exempt from doing horrible things._**

**Well, maybe Tara.**

**_KnifeEdge_ QUOTEonSouls:_And maybe (and I'm just trying explaining this thought out right now, to see how it sits with me) what we think of as a soul isn't necessarily a moral compass. I think Spike demonstrates several times throughout the show that he's capable of choosing good. He's just not very good at it, mostly because he sees little point (in the beginning), and I think it's hard for him to grasp human morality._**

**Maybe what we think of as a soul is fear. Fear of being ostracized, of punishment, of embarrassment, of injury, of being disliked... these are all things that keep us, on a daily basis, from doing whatever we want. Remove that fear, though, make someone immortal and powerful and no longer subjected to the same kinds of rules and fear that we experience daily, and what won't they do?**

**Compound that with the need for blood ... Maybe fledges are in that first headrush of power. They've just sprung from their grave, figured out that they're stronger and faster and all of their senses are sharper - designed to hunt prey. But there's no fear anymore.**

**Until they figure out what a Slayer is, and does, anyway. Until they find a vampire or demon that's bigger and stronger... and THEN they toe the line.**

**Or until they find a reason to fear again.**

**_I think what sets Spike apart is that he remembers being a good man. Vaguely, true. It was a very long time ago for him. And he's capable of deep and self-less love... something not even most humans are capable of. That's what sets him apart, what makes him different from Angel, and ultimately, what I think drives him toward some form of redemption._**

_I LOVE and respect this writer; **the GREATEST SPUFFY WRITER EVER!**_

_She also goes on to say how she **seriously doubts** that the soul "Angel" was cursed with is his own, since Liam wasn't exactly capable of guilt himself, which is obvious from what we saw in flashbacks of Season 2. And considering the Gypsies wanted Angelus to **suffer**, it's more likely that they cursed him with an already, guilt-full soul to make sure he **actually** suffered for what he had done._

**I fully support everything this wonderful Lady says, she shows such _insight into all the Buffyverse characters_, and her fics are _AMAZING_!**

**And I won't hear a bad word against her!_  
_**If you want to read her work, **which I highly recommend**, visit the link below.

_knifeedgefic . livejournal .com  
_

**I welcome all comments.**


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